F1: The Speed Legend

Leclerc paused mid-step. He stopped at the door of the conference room, turned around, and found that every single pair of eyes in the room was fixed on Kai.

Under the scrutiny of the entire room, Kai appeared exceptionally composed. After a brief moment of surprise and confusion, his thoughts cleared. Noticing the collective stare, he didn’t panic, but simply defaulted to his usual demeanor.

”All eyes on me. Are we waiting for me to hand out bonuses?”

”Alright, afternoon tea is on me. Tiramisu and lattes. How does that sound? I’ll call Lorenzo right now.”

With one sentence, the atmosphere instantly lightened. People began to chatter and joke, calling out different dessert and coffee orders.

Then, Kai steered the conversation back on track.

”Charles, you should stay too. Let’s take a look at the car we’ll be driving next year. Let’s see if it’s finally our turn to have an untouchable spaceship.”

The rustling laughter lasted for a moment before settling down.

Leclerc hesitated.

Did he want to stay?

Of course!

But Leclerc also knew his place within the team. He still had a lot to prove. Just look at Kai at this time last year. Kai had already won in Australia and Monaco and secured multiple podiums, but he still had no real say in team decisions, let alone participating in something as critical as the design of a new car.

Logic told him he should be sensible, turn around, and leave.

But his feet felt glued to the floor.

Kai wasn’t surprised by the hesitation. He turned to Binotto. ”Charles is like me, but also different. Our understanding of the car and our driving styles are completely different. Therefore, our perspectives on the car are bound to be different as well. Isn’t that exactly what the design phase needs? Different inspirations sparking a brainstorm, right?”

A cultural shift, overturning long-held, stagnant traditions from their roots, couldn’t be achieved by Kai alone. This supposed change wasn’t just about ’listening to Kai.’ It was about fundamentally altering the relationship between the technical team and the drivers. It was about changing the weighted value of simulator data versus driver feedback.

They should listen to Kai not because his contract dictated it, but because a driver’s input could provide the technical team with new inspiration. Naturally, ’the drivers’ included both Kai and Leclerc.

Over the past six months, during the SF90’s upgrade process, Leclerc had contributed just as much as Kai. Now that it was time to design the new car, there shouldn’t be an exception.

Binotto looked into Kai’s eyes. The words of refusal were already on the tip of his tongue. The world as he knew it, the system he was familiar with, was protesting vehemently.

The 2020 car was not the 2019 car.

The 2019 season was in progress. Everything was established, and everything was evolving in real-time. The 2020 season was different. It was the future. Everything was unknown. Personnel changes could happen across the board—from the engineers to the drivers, and even Binotto himself. Naturally, the situation was handled differently.

Kai could participate in the 2020 car design because he was the core of the team, and it was unthinkable that the team would let their leader leave next season.

Otherwise, if a driver transferred to another team the following year, wouldn’t all these core secrets be exposed?

Because of this, the design and R&D of a new season’s car were always the highest level of team classification. Strict non-disclosure agreements had to be observed by both drivers and engineers alike.

And that wasn’t all. Allowing drivers to participate in the design of the next season’s car meant more than just confirming they would drive for the team next year. It meant they were part of the team’s future blueprint. It was a recognition of authority and a comprehensive strategic inclusion. It wasn’t a simple matter.

Kai was one thing; Leclerc was another.

The words almost jumped out of his throat, but taking a deep breath, Binotto nodded in agreement.

He turned to Leclerc. ”Charles, come and join us.”

Change was happening. To hesitate and half-commit now would be worse than retreating to his comfort zone. There was no point in grumbling or acting reluctant.

Did Kai not understand the principles and the rules?

Binotto believed Kai was too smart not to understand. Yet, Kai still extended the olive branch, inviting Leclerc to stay. It was a signal: the future of Ferrari should be forged by its twin stars. They were ready to fight side-by-side and break new ground.

In a way, Kai had cemented Ferrari’s structural blueprint through his own methods.

This wasn’t typical of Binotto’s character, but step by step, they had arrived at this point.

Leclerc was stunned, then overjoyed. ”Really?” He instinctively sought confirmation.

Kai didn’t give Binotto a chance to regret it. ”If you don’t hurry up, there won’t be any seats left. Though I don’t know if standing through a punishment is harder than sitting through one.”

Leclerc obediently shut his mouth, squeezed back into the conference room, and muttered, ”Excuse me! Coming through! There’s a meeting waiting for me.”

A voice piped up from the side. ”I’ve never seen anyone so passionate about having a meeting.”

Ha!

”This is going to be another four hours. Charles, your butt might literally disappear.”

Hahahaha!

The laughter came in waves, creating a lively atmosphere.

Binotto paused slightly, taken aback.

Thinking about it, just three months ago, whenever Kai attended a technical meeting, the atmosphere was always tense and confrontational. It was like enemies crossing paths. It felt as though everyone wanted to pull a dagger and stab a few holes in the other side, ensuring only one party left the room alive.

In the blink of an eye, that was just a memory. Entering the conference room now, the mindset and emotions were entirely different.

The shock lasted only a moment. A faint smile touched the corners of Binotto’s mouth.

Maranello was indeed slowly changing.

Once again, the facts proved Marchionne right. In a flash, it had been almost a year since the titan’s passing, yet he continued to guide Ferrari forward in his own way.

Turning his head, Binotto saw Kai. Leclerc was beside him, beaming, unable to contain his excitement. He looked back at Kai, whispering something. Leclerc was the older driver, and the one with more single-seater experience, but right now, he radiated the eager energy of a young man looking up to Kai, his enthusiasm igniting the room.

The mood in the conference room lightened along with him.

A smile reached Binotto’s eyes. He turned to Resta. ”Let’s begin.”

Leclerc looked at Kai. A thousand words welled up in his chest, but he didn’t know how to express them. Finally, he just said the simplest thing.

”Thank you.”

A smile touched Kai’s eyes. ”I need an ally. Charles, right now it’s ’us against the world’.”

Pfft.

At the joke, Leclerc couldn’t hold back a full smile. He let out a long breath and looked back at the projection screen. His mindset was entirely different now. He wasn’t just participating in an in-season upgrade; he was becoming part of the team’s future. The warmth filled his chest, making it feel like it might burst.

Breathe. Breathe again. Leclerc forced himself to calm down, but his heart was pounding furiously.

Language couldn’t describe that kind of happiness.

His gaze toward Kai subtly shifted. It was no longer just friendly camaraderie; a seed of respect and admiration had taken root.

Next to him, Kai had already calmed down, gathering his thoughts and finding his focus.

Inviting Leclerc to stay wasn’t out of charity or impulse. Kai genuinely believed a driver’s input should be part of the car design brainstorm. Furthermore, facing a united front of engineers, he needed Leclerc’s support. Different opinions and different voices were always a good thing.

Besides, when it came to loyalty... Leclerc was a truly uncompromising Tifosi.

The meeting continued.

One meeting ended and another began. Their brains, running continuously without a break, were nearing memory overload. The stuffy, hot air made it hard to breathe. The massive influx of information weighed down their heads, making them droop slowly like heavy ears of wheat.

Drowsiness crept in.

Even the cicadas outside the window began to sound like a lullaby, causing their eyelids to fight a losing battle.

Only by experiencing it firsthand could one realize that meetings were sometimes more exhausting than racing.

Yet, Kai remained focused. His mind raced, moving from theory to practice and using practice to inform theory. Ideas sparked rapidly.

He was actually becoming more alert.

From the 2018 season to 2019, after enduring various trials and difficulties, Binotto and Resta had reached a preliminary consensus on the design of the entirely new 2020 car, temporarily dubbed the SF1000.

They believed they possessed the strongest straight-line speed, and Ferrari’s engine advantage would carry over into 2020. The glaring weakness remained low-to-medium speed downforce. This dictated the design direction for the SF1000: to increase mechanical downforce as much as possible while maintaining their current top speed.

When it came to car design, Kai was a layman. He lacked the theoretical foundation and the architectural knowledge. Relying on self-taught, fragmented understanding wasn’t enough. He didn’t presume he could see past the surface, dictate terms to the experts, and overstep his bounds by telling them how to do their jobs.

Formula 1 design theory was far more complex than anyone could imagine.

However, as a driver, Kai’s experience and perspective provided something different. It was first-hand data, the most authentic and detailed information available.

An obvious fact was that the W10’s mechanical downforce was slightly inferior to its predecessor, the W09. Yet, Mercedes’ competitiveness in low-to-medium speed corners hadn’t declined; it had improved. This season, they were even suppressing Red Bull, a team known for excelling in those exact conditions.

Of course, one couldn’t look at things in isolation or rely solely on outcomes. The improvement in Mercedes’ low-to-medium speed performance couldn’t be simply attributed to a reduction in mechanical downforce. But the reverse was also true: Mercedes didn’t just treat the symptoms. They didn’t simply chase the absolute limit of mechanical downforce. Instead, they sought balance from a more comprehensive, macro perspective, resulting in the well-rounded car they currently fielded.

If Kai guessed correctly, the W11 would build upon the W10, becoming even more balanced and forgiving, with an even greater ability to adapt to different circuits.

This was just a hypothesis.

It was also merely a reference point. Kai wasn’t suggesting Ferrari should copy Mercedes’ design, but rather that they should adjust their own way of thinking. They were too fixated on one specific variable, refusing to turn back even when they hit a wall.

Where was the gap between Brackley and Maranello?

Information? Rumors? Technical innovation? No, none of the above. The real gap was an open-minded mentality that embraced new concepts and differing opinions.

From Kai’s perspective, there was a fundamental problem linking the design philosophy of last season’s SF90 to the current concept of the SF1000: the lack of dissenting voices. Last season, they tried to increase mechanical downforce. This season, they were trying to take it a step further and increase it even more.

They were going down a single, increasingly extreme path.

In fact, looking at the SF90 revealed the truth. The problems caused by increasing downforce were cascading. Drag skyrocketed, making the car slow on the straights. The overall package was heavy. If Ferrari didn’t want to lose their straight-line advantage, they had to constantly push the engine to its limits. If the engine suffered a failure, the entire design philosophy collapsed.

And that wasn’t all. The aerodynamic design was still skewed. The front axle lacked aerodynamic load, leading to understeer, especially on cold tires or during long stints.

The direct result of constantly challenging the absolute limit was an increasingly narrow operating window. There was less and less room to maneuver, and virtually no margin for error. It placed severe, even harsh demands on the driver, the track, the weather, and the car itself. The slightest deviation could result in disaster.

Essentially, the design philosophy of the SF1000 was more extreme than the SF90. The problems faced in 2019 would be magnified in 2020.

Without addressing the root cause, 2020 would simply fall into the same vicious cycle.

In a way, Kai could understand the philosophy.

When it came to pursuing a rounded, balanced package, Mercedes was unmatched. No one in the paddock could beat them at their own game. If Ferrari simply followed in Mercedes’ footsteps, picking up their scraps, they were destined to never surpass them. So, it made sense to take an unconventional path, pushing the limits to find a way to topple their rivals.

The designs of the SF90 and SF1000 relied heavily on driver capability. The window to extract the car’s ultimate performance was narrow, requiring the driver to use their individual talent to locate it and then expend all their energy to stay within it. If successful, Ferrari could overtake Mercedes on the track.

As it happened, Ferrari currently possessed the youngest and most talented driver lineup on the grid. They could push Kai and Leclerc’s talent to the absolute limit, carving out their own path to victory.

Kai wasn’t opposed to this approach. It perfectly matched his own racing philosophy.

Challenge the limit, chase the limit, achieve the breakthrough, and surpass the opposition.

So, what was the problem?

As a driver, he craved that challenge, but car design couldn’t function on that premise, because the car itself might not be able to withstand the strain. Austria and Britain were perfect examples.

Pushing the limits was like dancing on a knife’s edge. It wasn’t just the driver taking risks; the technical team and the pit crew were doing it too. Everyone was operating on the edge. Even external factors like weather changes or track incidents could break the balance. The car existed in a state of impending collapse.

It wasn’t viable.

So, what should Kai suggest? ’If you’re so smart, you do it?’

The complexity of designing a Formula 1 car was beyond imagination. Anyone with even a passing understanding of the sport knew that these cars were challenging mechanical limits to find fractions of a second at speeds exceeding 360 km/h. Everything was delicate and sensitive. One small change triggered a cascade of reactions, and by the time you realized it, you were left with a mess.

Saying, ”I think focusing solely on mechanical downforce is the wrong direction,” was easy. But understanding the underlying principles and providing a solution was the real challenge.

Kai didn’t consider himself an expert. He couldn’t provide Resta with a comprehensive new car design. However, as a driver, he could cut to the core issues: correlation discrepancies, aerodynamic efficiency imbalances, narrow tire windows, mechanical instability, and so on.

On paper, these problems existed objectively, but they lacked a sense of reality. They were just terms and numbers. In practice, however, their impact was ever-present, acting as the true deciding factors between winning and losing.

The discrepancy between Computational Fluid Dynamics (CFD) and on-track data, delayed front axle aerodynamic loading, premature floor vortex separation, balance shifts during long stints with changing fuel loads—these things could only be perceived from the cockpit during a race. He didn’t need to fix specific design flaws; he needed to correct the design philosophy.

A concept, an inspiration, an idea.

Engineers had their strengths, and drivers had theirs. When both sides found the perfect point of collaboration, their strengths complemented each other, sparking inspiration and pulling together as one. That was when they could design a car truly suited to the driver.

At least, theoretically, that was the right approach.

At the front of the room, Resta was speaking passionately, his mouth dry, having already downed two cups of coffee.

At the back, Kai was entirely focused, free from distractions. The gears turning in his mind were almost audible. He had never been so engaged.

Communication was imperative, but the method of communication was an art.

”...Overall downforce increased by 7.6%, significant improvement in low-to-medium speed corners. The problems of the 2019 season will be vastly improved next year.”

The data was impressive, the logic rigorous. On paper, the concept and design were flawless, fulfilling every theoretical requirement.

Just like Archimedes’ principle: give me a fulcrum and a long enough lever, and I shall move the world.

The theory was perfect, aligning with all calculations and concepts. The real problem was: where do you find the fulcrum? And where do you conjure the lever?

Resta stood at the front, speaking eloquently and endlessly, but out of the corner of his eye, he kept stealing glances at Kai, unable to suppress his curiosity about the driver’s reaction.

The upgrade suggestions Kai had provided for the SF90 had been validated in practice. The integration between the driver and the engineers was gradually getting on track. Look at the SF90 technical team; they argued and debated with Kai every day, yet somehow they had forged a real camaraderie.

But the SF1000 was different. Currently, everything was theoretical, everything was data. Without a solid foundation of professional knowledge, it sounded like a foreign language. Even as a driver, Kai might not fully grasp these designs and figures. How they would incorporate a driver’s input at this stage remained a question mark.

Watching this unfold, Binotto couldn’t help but sigh. Whether they realized it or not, Kai was undeniably becoming an indispensable part of Maranello.

Perhaps Kai was the sole exception.

Bathing in the scrutiny, Kai’s attention remained razor-sharp. He didn’t let his mind wander for a second. He wasn’t there to pick holes; he was there to integrate himself completely into the team, becoming an essential piece of the puzzle as they worked together toward developing a dominant car.

”Have you run the yaw angle tests?” Kai asked.

The question was direct. Almost like an interrogation.

Immediately, eyes darted across the conference room, locking onto Kai. A hint of sharpness, anger, and irritation leaked out.

However, the department heads didn’t stir. Within the SF90 team, they had long grown accustomed to this style of dialogue.

There was no need for pleasantries. Cutting straight to the chase and focusing on the issue at hand—that was the proper way to operate. In a team like this, everyone had their duties, played their roles, fulfilled their responsibilities, and worked together toward the same goal.

They were colleagues, not friends.

Resta was the same. ”Standard plus or minus three degrees.”

”Have you expanded it to plus or minus six degrees?”

The rapid-fire, pointed exchange caused a noticeable pause in the room. The hot, sticky air seemed to solidify for a second.

Before Resta could answer, an engineer from the chassis team chimed in. ”There’s no need. Anything over three degrees is an extreme scenario.”

Nearby, Chassis Head Cardile instinctively wanted to stop his subordinate. Kai’s questioning was certainly not unwarranted. They should discuss the issue objectively, not dismiss everything Kai said outright.

Drivers and engineers shouldn’t be enemies.

But unexpectedly, Lotti, the Head of the Power Unit, kicked him.

Cardile winced and shot Lotti a glare.

Lotti was grinning broadly, making a ’zip it’ gesture, signaling they should stay quiet.

Cardile paused, taking a moment to realize what was happening. Truthfully, they had started out the exact same way. Look at them now, fully integrated with Kai.

The SF1000 technical team needed to go through the same baptism of fire the SF90 team had. Otherwise, second-hand experience would never feel real to them.

The only difference was that now, as veterans of the process, they could sit back and enjoy the show.

Watching the familiar scene play out, Cardile felt a spark of amusement. He ignored Kai and instead strained his ears, waiting to catch his subordinate’s reaction, ready for the drama.

In the span of a single thought, Kai’s voice rang out again. ”The crosswind at Maggotts in Silverstone was 3.5 degrees. The mountain winds at the Red Bull Ring were 5 degrees. Not to mention Hungary, where the crosswinds in the second half of the lap are even more pronounced.”

No arguing, no excuses. Just presenting the facts and the logic. It was that simple.

He maintained a completely professional, objective stance, sounding more like an engineer than the engineers themselves. As a result, the engineer who was supposed to be the professional ended up looking foolish.

Cardile: Pfft.

He caught his subordinate’s sharp intake of breath and saw the flustered, bewildered expression out of the corner of his eye. He almost couldn’t hold in his laughter.

Managing to suppress the smile tugging at his lips, Cardile made a mental note. This guy hadn’t done his homework. He would need a proper reprimand later.

Kai’s attention remained firmly on the design blueprints, completely oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. He paused briefly, leaving room for the information to sink in.

”Extreme conditions are the norm on the track.”

”Historically, the Silverstone weekend shouldn’t have been that hot. But the track temperature ultimately exceeded fifty degrees. That’s the reality.”

”The same goes for crosswinds.”

Simulators ultimately couldn’t perfectly replicate the unpredictability of nature.

Resta completely ignored the chassis team’s internal grumbling. Upon hearing Kai’s question, he had already pulled up the extended data.

Sure enough, past three degrees, the downforce slope began to fluctuate.

”This is the non-linear zone,” Resta explained, though a hint of hesitation lingered in his voice. ”Normal aerodynamic behavior.”

”But not on the track.” Kai countered directly, unintimidated. He stared at Resta, waiting for a reaction from the rest of the room.

He wasn’t afraid. Bring on the voices and opinions. He was ready to brainstorm and debate the entire room.

”This is where we lose trust.”

”We lose the rear in low-to-medium speed corners not because of tire degradation, but because the disruption caused by crosswinds where the sidepods meet the rear wing is being underestimated.”

”The current design still has zones of unstable airflow. The worse the crosswind, the more severe the loss of downforce.”

In other words: the aerodynamics were severely flawed.

Or perhaps the wind tunnel testing was inadequate and hadn’t accounted for all scenarios?

But he wasn’t finished.

”No, forgive me, let me be more precise.” Kai’s eyes were sharp. ”This is a betrayal.”

The words landed like a stone in a quiet pond.

”In extreme weather conditions, the car betrays expectations, betrays trust. We get stabbed in the back, and the race slips through our fingers, little by little.”

Just like the race in Austria last month.

So, was Kai predicting that the SF1000 would repeat the exact same mistakes?

But the key was right here. There was no sarcasm, no furious outburst, not even an aggressive posture. Kai’s tone was exceptionally...

Calm.

Composed, open, steady, and direct. He wasn’t venting frustration, nor was he picking a fight. And precisely because of that, the strength of character behind his words shone through. He refused to compromise, refused to yield, firmly voicing his perspective.

Not to mock, not to overpower, simply to express an opinion and initiate a discussion.

This objective, uncompromising stance made the air in the conference room snap tight instantly.

Thump, thump. They could almost hear their hearts burning. The tension and exhaustion from the long meeting were on the verge of erupting.

Leclerc, slightly panicked, held his breath.

Honestly, he was still digesting Resta’s design explanation and hadn’t quite caught up. The leap from theory to practice required a transition period.

Without any time to mentally prepare, the room was suddenly filled with invisible swords.